


Chocolate Chips

by orphan_account



Category: Wet Hot American Summer (2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Because I suck, Boys Kissing, High School AU, M/M, just some general fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7510456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben and McKinley are assigned to work on a scene from Romeo and Juliet. A kissing scene. These are some short vignettes of things clicking into place for Ben.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolate Chips

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I am very drunk. I wrote this when I was very drunk. Any criticisms and nitpicks are welcomed because lord knows I'm incapable of finding them right now. That is, if anybody even reads this, considering how goddamn tiny this niche fandom is. That all being said, I hope you enjoy.

Pulling back was instinct at this point, and the confused look on Susie’s face never hurt Ben any less. Standing there in the hallway though, crowds of students hurrying to third period, Ben just couldn’t do it. He still couldn’t kiss Susie; blond, buoyant, bubbly Susie who’d been his best friend since third grade and girlfriend as of last summer. Now with September school bells in the air, she’d declared that they should go public with their relationship, and Ben, who saw the logic in it, had agreed.

And yet, he still can’t kiss her.

He frowns, shrugging, mumbling something about having to get to class before he’s late.

“Right,” Susie says, forcing a smile. She turns up the brightness even more, which only stabs Ben in the chest like Tybalt stabs Mercutio.

“Why, darlin’, sweetie, clementine,” Ben starts, pulling on his southern accent, “This just isn’t the time nor place.” He leans in, smiling his lopsided grin, voice dropping low, “You don’t want all these common folk sneakin’ a peek at our love, now do you? We have to keep some things mysterious,” he jokes. When he pulls back, he sees a smaller, more genuine smile on Susie’s lips. Lips he just can’t seem to kiss.

“You’re right,” she says. The usual pep is trickling back into her expression. Her eyes drop to the floor then back up at Ben, mouth opening before it closes again. She smiles, this time it reaches the corners of her eyes. “You should get to class before you’re late.”

Ben pauses, nods, and then manages a soft, “Yeah.” He glances into the swarm of students who are hurrying to class, and catches sight of black hair and a too tight white gym shirt. Mickey? Mikey? Ben can’t place a name to the kid, but recognizes him just enough to know he’s in Ben’s English class. “I’ll see you at lunch,” Ben says, awkwardly clasping Susie’s shoulder. He turns into the tide of students, ending up behind—  the boy stops suddenly, bending over to pick up a fallen notebook. Ben notices a second too late and ends up crotch first against the boy’s ass, thrusting them both forward, and Ben’s pretty sure he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. His face burns with embarrassment and he stumbles back.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, hands gripping the straps of his backpack. He resists tugging at the collar of his shirt, a nervous habit Susie’s told him he needs to kick because  _ you’re practically seventeen, Ben. You need to act like an adult, not a scared little kid. _ “I didn’t— I didn’t see you there. I mean, I did see you, I was walking behind you, but I didn’t see—” The boy stands up and turns around. Ben sucks in a breath.

“S’alright,” the boy shrugs, a cat-like grin tugging at his lips. Ben watches as his tongue sneaks out to wet them before he chuckles. And with that, he turns away and keeps walking down the hall. Ben stops by the water fountain for a long, cold drink before he heads to class.

—

“McKinley and Ben,” Mr. Dumet calls. Ben snaps his head up from where he’d been doodling stage directions in his notebook. “You two will work together for the skit project, and your assigned passage will be…” he pauses, a self-proclaimed technique for enhancing dramatic effect. Ben knows this because Susie repeats almost verbatim whatever Mr. Dumet says, stars in her eyes, a blond curl twirled around her finger. In truth, sometimes it makes Ben a little uncomfortable. In the midst of Mr. Dumet’s dramatic pause, he looks around the room, and freezes. Of course McKinley would be the boy he’d assaulted with his crotch in the middle of the hallway, and of course he’d been assigned to work on—

“Romeo and Juliet, Act 1, Scene 5, page 5.”

Ben listens as the class hurriedly flips through their texts, pages whooshing, and then the collective laughter that ensues. “Ben and McKinley are  _ gay, _ ” someone, probably JJ, calls out. Ben feels all the air leave from his lungs, and any protest on his lips is quashed by the sound of the bell. He sits, frozen, as the class packs up and even Mr. Dumet flounces out of the room. Ben really has to wonder how the man even got a job here sometimes, considering he does as little work as the summer school kids.

“So, I guess we’re  _ gay, _ ” McKinley says, suddenly appearing from behind Ben. He laughs, clasping Ben’s shoulder while Ben twists around in his seat. “Don’t listen to JJ, he’s an asshole. I mean, I am too, but,” a shrug, “I’m the good kind of asshole.”

“There’s a good kind of asshole?”

“I’d like to think so. I’ve seen a lot of assholes in my time,” McKinley smirks, raising a brow. Ben swallows, staring up from where he sits. McKinley seems nice enough, and the fact he appears unperturbed by their assignment helps Ben find some semblance of calm. All they have to do, however, is just reenact the short scene, and Ben can do that. He’s an actor. Maybe they can high five instead of kiss.

They swap home phone numbers and schedules, setting up a few tentative dates to practice, and the more Ben listens to McKinley, the more he relaxes. The boy has a natural sort of charm to him, nothing like you’d see onstage or behind a screen, but in a level, grounded way. He’s human and he knows it, only sighing in an overdramatic way when he spills his baggie of Goldfish crackers on himself, but not without throwing a grin Ben’s way. “Typical,” he says. “Called a queer  _ and _ I spill crackers all over myself. What a day.”

“It’s okay,” Ben hurries to say, lingering in the doorway with McKinley still. He’s going to be late to chemistry, but Ben can’t bring himself to care. “I forgot my key again today, so I have to wait on the doorstep until my mom comes home from work.” He pauses. “And, well, the whole queer thing, too.”

“What time does she get home?” McKinley asks, brushing crumbs off his shirt still.

“Like, 8 o’clock,” Ben shrugs.

McKinley laughs and it lights Ben up the same way the sound of summer wind chimes do. His face almost hurts from grinning so much. “That fucking sucks,” McKinley says. “If I didn’t have JJ and Gary coming over today, I’d say you could hang at my place, but…” he trails off. “This Thursday though, yeah? We can start the project then.”

“Yeah, yeah! That sounds great,” Ben nods eagerly. McKinley holds his gaze for a beat, his own smile stretching the corners of his face just a little wider before he seems to catch himself. Ben really thinks he looks like a cat when he smiles, but the good kind. The kind that he’d want to scratch behind the ears and feed treats to. ...He feels stupid making that comparison.

“Cool,” McKinley says. He pokes Ben in the stomach. “Four o’clock, don’t be late. I’m a busy guy.” With that, he slinks into the hallway.

—

Ben stands at the front of McKinley’s door, triple checking the address he’d been given. He fiddles with the bag of Goldfish crackers he’d brought, takes a deep breath, and rings the doorbell. There’s a long silence before feet thunder down a staircase and the door is yanked open. McKinley looks uncharacteristically flustered, his cheeks red, hair tousled. He tugs at the waistband of his jeans and then pulls his oversized sweater down over his waist.

“You’re early,” he grimaces.

“Well, you said not to be late,” Ben says, earnest.

McKinley looks him over, licks his lips, and then opens the door wider. “Fair enough,” he says, clearly fighting a smile. Ben, for the life of him, can’t figure out what’s so funny, but steps inside.  The house interior is much like Ben’s; staircase immediately to the right, dining room on the left, kitchen down the hall, and living room attached amorphously to that. While the structure may be the same, however, the entire atmosphere feels almost foreign to Ben. There are knickknacks littered around the house, traces of family life that create something Ben can really only describe as  _ warm _ . Magazines on coffee tables, vacation souvenirs from places like New York City, and a small collection of stuffed bears on a shelf.

“Sorry, my sister didn’t pick up her dolls before she left for her friend’s,” McKinley says, scooting them with his foot to the side of the hallway. Ben stares at family pictures that line the

walls, grinning at a 2nd grade McKinley who’d had his hair visibly forced into being combed and styled. He’s openly frowning in the photo, looking much like he’d rather be dead than in front of that camera.

“Eurgh,” McKinley groans, slapping a hand over his face. “I keep telling my mom to take that down.” He reaches for it, but Ben grabs his wrist to stop him.

“It’s cute,” he beams, “you should leave it.”

McKinley stares at him, that wide-eyed look again that Ben had seen in the classroom on Monday. “Whatever,” McKinley shrugs. He looks down. “Shit, are those Goldfish crackers?” he asks. He twists his wrist to pull out of Ben’s grip and reaches down between them to grab for the bag. McKinley wastes no time in tearing the bag open and scooping an uncivilized handful into his mouth. “A man after my own heart,” he teases around a crumbly mouthful, bumping Ben’s shoulder with his own. “C’mon,” he says, continuing down the hallway, “We can practice in the basement.”

The basement is well-decorated much like the rest of the house, but more towards what are clearly McKinley’s interests. Posters of kung-fu movies and shirtless, muscled athletes line the walls, and there’s a beat up television with a row of VHS tapes underneath it. The green shag carpet is a bit dirty, but Ben finds he doesn’t mind. In fact, he thinks it really brings the whole place together as something uniquely McKinley’s. What catches his eye, however, (other than Olympian Bart Connor posing in just underwear taped to the wall), is the sewing mannequin in the corner. Draped over it are swaths of cloth, and pins are stuck to it in various places, leaving it look recently worked on.

“You sew?” Ben walks over towards it and inspects the fabric, noting the delicate stitches and overall shape coming together almost effortlessly. He’s only seen this kind of technique from the older theater students.

“What?” McKinley turns around before flopping backwards onto the couch. “Oh, yeah, it’s stupid,” he laughs. “Just something I like to do.”

“You’re really talented,” Ben says, walking around the mannequin. “What’re you making?” He pinches it carefully between his fingers.

“Uh, it’s a dress. For my sister. She didn’t like any of the ones at the store, so, uh, I offered to make her one.” He rubs at the back of his head, lips pursed.

“Wow, you’re, like, really creative,” Ben can’t help but gush.

“Nah,” McKinley huffs.

“No, really,” Ben says, moving towards the couch finally. “This is some really advanced stuff, you’re really good!”

A pause.

“Really?”

“Really,” Ben assures, sitting down on the couch right next to McKinley. “I’ve seen some really good work in the theater at school, and you’re right up there with them. Maybe even better.”

McKinley straightens up at this, and that cat-like look is back in his eye. “Well, I mean, I’ve been sewing since I was six, so…”

“No way,” Ben says.

“Hand to god,” McKinley smirks, bringing a hand to his chest.

Ben finds he can only smile, eyes flickering between McKinley’s hand and his smug expression. All he can think in the moment is, “You’re so cool,” over and over, but supposes that isn’t the sanest thing to say to someone you’ve essentially just met, so he bites down on his lip and forces the conversation towards Shakespeare.

Which, halfway through the read, Ben immediately regrets. It’s after, “Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take,” that the stage direction reads  _ Kisses her _ . He looks between the page and McKinley, who sits there, one arm propped on the back of the couch, a brow raised in confusion.

“What?”

“What?” Ben mimics, suddenly startled.

“What?” McKinley asks again.

“What?” Ben repeats, unable to hold back a smile.

“Nothing,” McKinley finally laughs. “Are you going to finish your line, or what?”

Ben looks back down at the page, sucks in a breath, and holds out his fist. “What the shit are you doing?” McKinley asks.

“It’s a fistbump.”

McKinley squints, his entire expression squishing up into something undeniably confused. Ben thinks it’s kinda cute. “A  _ fistbump? _ ” he asks, voice pitching up in disbelief. “You’re reading one of the most lovestruck and passionate meetings in all of literature, and you substitute the kiss for a  _ fistbump? _ ”

Ben presses his lips into a flat line. “Yes.”

“And I thought you were the theater kid here,” McKinley says, rolling his eyes. He leans in and pecks Ben on the lips before he can protest, and,  _ oh _ . Something clicks for Ben. It’s like stopping halfway through baking chocolate chip cookies, and remembering that you’ve forgotten the chocolate chips. McKinley is the chocolate chips. 

“There, not so bad, yeah?” Ben sits there, frozen. His eyes grow wide, heart leaping into his throat, shoulders set stiff. McKinley waves a hand in front of him. “I didn’t break you, did I? C’mon, it was just a kiss, and not even a good one.” Ben hesitates to ask what a  _ good  _ kiss is from McKinley.

Ben sucks in a breath, forcing himself to nod. “Yeah, no, it’s fine, sorry.” McKinley watches him with a strange expression, the sort you’d use on a crazy person approaching you in the middle of the street asking for drugs or a blowjob. Not that Ben would know what that’s like, considering he lives in the middle of suburbia, but he imagines it’s something like that. Ben sighs, rolls his eyes, and leans in again to peck McKinley. He catches a whiff of oranges, aftershave, and Goldfish crackers, a strangely enticing combination that makes Ben’s heart hammer. He pulls away, puts on his best acting face, and whispers, “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

Ben wonders if he’s done something wrong when McKinley shivers, eyes hooded.

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” McKinley says softly. Ben glances down at his page then back up at McKinley who stares at him expectantly.

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!” he says, pausing. He awkwardly lifts a hand to cup McKinley’s face, his thumb stroking his cheek. Ben looks deeply into McKinley’s eyes, and feels himself pulled closer, almost like he wants to drown in his gaze. Ben thinks he wouldn’t mind that. Drowning in McKinley’s eyes, sinking into them as they slip shut. “Give me my sin again,” Ben all but sighs against McKinley’s lips before capturing them in another kiss. He lingers a beat longer this time then pulls away, wiping a strand of saliva from his mouth. Ben knows he should think this is gross, that kissing McKinley should have the same appeal as drinking sour milk left out in the sun, but, miraculously, it doesn’t. In fact, the only part of all this that does scare him is how much it doesn’t scare him.

“What’re you grinning about?” McKinley asks, opening his eyes finally.

“I’m not grinning,” Ben says, bringing a hand over his mouth. He’s definitely grinning.

“Uh huh, alright.” McKinley leans back, slinging his arm over the back of the couch again. He wipes lazily at his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Should we run through those lines again?”

Ben’s never agreed to anything so quickly.

 

—

 

The conversation with Susie is, undoubtedly, a bit awkward. There’s bargaining from her end, and confessions from Ben’s, and overall, he thinks it could’ve gone a bit better. But, beggars can’t be choosers, and he hangs up the phone with their friendship still in tact. Ben really can’t ask for more than that right now. 

Susie’s quiet suggestion of, “Maybe you should ask him out on a date,” plays on repeat in Ben’s head as he lays in bed, one hand rubbing idly at his stomach before sneaking beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs. He strokes himself, biting his lip to stifle any gasps, and pictures McKinley’s hand as his own, bringing him to climax. He doesn’t mean for that to happen, but, well, it does. And it leaves him laying in bed in a post-orgasmic haze that he hadn’t known possible.

He thinks about kissing McKinley as he drifts off to sleep, a smile tugging at his lips.

 

—

Ben decides to peck McKinley on the cheek for their presentation on Tuesday. It’s a last minute call between both of them while they run through lines one last time in the boys bathroom before class. McKinley’s hands are running through Ben’s hair again, and he bites at McKinley’s bottom lip, tugging gently until he elicits a soft gasp from the other boy, and his laughter feels more like an overflow of emotion rather than directed at something tangible.

“You fucker,” McKinley says, shoving a hand against Ben’s chest, both of them erupting into giggles. “My lips are going to be all swollen now.”

Ben, learning a thing or two from McKinley about smugness, just nips at his lips again before opening the bathroom stall. “After you, my fair Juliet.”

McKinley strides out, middle finger poised behind his back at Ben. “Let’s go get this over with.” 

Ben wants to kiss him.

Their skit goes about as well as it can, what with having two boys recite the roles of Romeo and Juliet. There’s the expected exclamation of “ _ gaaay _ ” from somewhere in the classroom, and McKinley flips whoever it is off, which earns a chiding from Mr. Dumet, and then the class devolves into general debauchery. All in all, it goes pretty well, in Ben’s books.

He’s shoving his notebooks into his backpack at the end of class when McKinley rests his head on Ben’s shoulder, hair tickling Ben’s chin. Susie’s words echo in his head, a gentle hand guiding him from behind.

“So, I guess that—”

“Do you wanna see a movie this Friday? My treat.” Ben cuts in, turning to look McKinley in the eye. He wants him to know he’s serious, to know that Ben’s heart is pining for something more than just friendship and occasional kisses under the guise of Romeo and Juliet.

McKinley stares, wide-eyed, the rests his head on Ben’s shoulder again. He’s warm, and an arms snakes around Ben’s chest.

“Pick me up at 8 o’clock. Make sure you’re on time.”

Ben thinks he might cry from joy. 

 

—

 

They’re laying in Mckinley’s bed on a November morning.

“I think I love you,” Ben says. He turns over on his side, sunlight highlighting McKinley’s face. He lays there, a smirk on his lips, and Ben wants to kiss him until they’re both breathless. Every kiss is exhilarating in a way he’d never known possible, a thrill more exciting than passing a test he didn’t study for, or opening a new bag of chips. “I really think I love you,” he says again, the awe of it all washing over him.

McKinley, to his credit, appears to remain calm. But Ben knows better by now. He can tell by the twitch of his eyebrow and the quirk of his lips that McKinley is no more apathetic than Ben is right now. He leans in and kisses McKinley, pulling him on top of him.

“You’re terrible,” McKinley says, resting his face in the crook of Ben’s neck. They lay there, quiet, letting the morning coalesce around them like sweet honey. “And… I guess I love you, too.”

“You guess?” Ben teases.

“I love you,” McKinley groans, tangling fingers in Ben’s messy blond locks. “I really, stupidly, love you. In a really gay way.”

Ben laughs, wrapping arms around McKinley’s waist. “Give me my sin again,” he whispers.

“Shut the fuck up,” McKinley says, leaning in to kiss Ben. He’s much, much filthier than Juliet is in the play, tongue snaking into Ben’s mouth, and hands toying with the zipper of Ben’s jeans. And Ben, who is certainly no Romeo, is very okay with that.


End file.
